Last summer, Korea started singing along to "Gangnam Style," by the K-pop star Psy. By October, my nephews in Maryland had joined the chorus. A couple of months ago in Chongqing, China, I saw women exercising by doing its signature horse-riding dance in a public square. In February, Psy performed before thousands at Brazilian Carnival.
The thoroughly global hit (its video is currently YouTube's most watched video ever, with over 1.3 billion views) has made Gangnam, a 15-square-mile district of southeast Seoul known for packed nightclubs, pricey boutiques and ubiquitous plastic surgery clinics, into a newly magnetic destination.
I normally avoid such spots — a matter of both budget and preference — but during a recent trip to South Korea, I couldn't resist the challenge: Would it be possible to spend three days in a district defined by opulence without hyperextending my budget?
Not only was it possible, it was easier than pretending to ride a horse. And if you take the time to deconstruct the song, you'll realize why: this is an upscale neighborhood where, for the price of a cup of coffee or a tube of lipstick, you can spend an afternoon pretending to be rich. In the video, Psy pokes fun at the poseurs who arrive from more humble neighborhoods. But because they are there, businesses have responded. Yes, there are expensive restaurants and high-end boutiques beyond a normal person's means. But there are also plenty of opportunities to eat, drink, dance and shop for very little. Call it Gangnam Frugal Style.
My visit coincided with the Lunar New Year, which Koreans tend to spend with family; that reduced crowds but left some attractions, like the Pulmuone Kimchi Museum, closed. ("Who cares," said Youngpo Hong, a student and one of my local sources. "I have a kimchi museum in my refrigerator.") But most of Gangnam was still open for business, especially the area around the Gangnam Station subway stop, where a honeycomb of crowded, neon-lit, mostly pedestrian alleys are home to restaurants, bars and clubs — stacked vertically to around five stories. The shopping districts closer to the Han River were also active, as were a handful of cultural attractions, including the Bongeunsa Temple (no admission), a tranquil hillside Buddhist retreat, and the tranquil park housing the Joseon Dynasty tombs (admission, 1,000 won, or about 95 cents at 1,055 won to the dollar).
It would be a reach to call any part of Gangnam "hip" — an invisible anti-hipster perimeter wall keeps anyone not in line with prevailing high-end fashions across the river in Hongdae — but the hottest spot right now is Garosu-gil, a tree-lined shopping street near the Sinsa subway stop packed with cafes and boutiques.
Psy makes multiple references to coffee in the song, and no wonder: the quantity of cafes on and around Garosu-gil is mind-boggling. I decided to start my exploration of the area with a quick survey. Though the coffee is generally good, most customers seem to care little about fair trade or single origins; the point is to see and be seen. The best example of this in Garosu-gil is Coffeesmith, a monstrous, multitiered space barely nicer than a decent Starbucks, but so popular with Seoul's stilettoed, Americano-drinking populace that even with the reduced holiday crowds, it was hard to get a table.
At first glance prices seemed high — 4,000 won for an espresso? But that really is just a liquid license to sit for hours among groups of 20-something women preening, giggling over smartphones and sometimes chatting with young men in stylish, slim-fit jackets and even the occasional tie.
Significantly more intimate and mildly less of a scene, Bloom & Gouté sits one block west from the main drag, a classy combination cafe and flower shop. (Flowers adorn each table, often placed in bottles that, appropriate to the local emphasis on vanity, once held beauty products like Aesop Oil-Free Facial Hydrating Serum.) Lattes are a 7,000-won price of admission; a better deal was to be found at Coco Bruni, a cute spot offering 3,000-won espressos. Here there seemed to be a focus on the actual product: a young barista pulled and tossed at least three shots until he was satisfied with my order.
Shopping options are divided into high-end spots along the main drag offering Korean brands — good for browsing — and small boutiques featuring more offbeat items. A faux-rustic shop called Farmer was full of handmade accessories for women; colorful earmuffs, hats and hair clips, many under 10,000 won, dominated during the freezing Seoul winter. A friend, Eun Young Koh, told me Koreans on a budget often relieve stress by purchasing a small item like a pair of socks — I recommend doing so at a Korean chain called Aland, where I found a 7,900-won blue-and-red-striped pair. (I admit to a brief surge of post-purchase dopamine.)
Here's the bad news for shoppers: Garosu-gil is too adored for its own good, and a global invasion has begun. As of my trip, a four-story outlet of the South California brand Hollister was the latest; inside, I found throngs of 20-something fashion lemmings browsing as a sound system blared the lyrics "Oh it's so cliché …" Exactly.
Solace can be found at one of Gangnam's cheap eating options. Just about every meal I had was under $10. There is a variety of jajangmyeon — Korean-Chinese takeout spots — but also more upscale places, like Sawore Boribap, where bargains can hide in otherwise upscale menus. For example, the boribap, or barley rice, mixed with vegetables and red pepper paste, is just 8,500 won; and a haemul jeon, a delicious seafood pancake more seafood than pancake, is 7,000 won. As in just about all Korean restaurants, under-order rather than over-order: the small side dishes collectively known as banchan, free and refillable, pick up the slack. (At Sawore Boribop, they include extra spicy raw oysters — a major score in my book.)
Near the landmark Kyobo Tower is a restaurant I liked more for its history than its food. Songtan Budae Chigae serves its signature dish for 10,000 won a person. Budae chigae, which means "army base stew," combines stewed kimchi with meat products American soldiers first introduced to the hungry populace during the Korean War: hot dogs and Spam. It may not be gourmet, but it was hearty and satisfying.
Another money-saver came courtesy of my friend Rob Koh, in a variation on the tabletop-grilled marinated beef that most Americans associate with Korean cuisine: Tak galbi, in which chicken is stir-fried with red pepper paste. Right across the street from my hostel near Gangnam Station I found Chum-Chu-Neun Tak-Galbi (Dancing Chicken Galbi), where 9,000 won bought its namesake dish, along with rice cakes, sesame leaf, cabbage, mushroom and a spicy sauce not for the weak.
In "Gangnam Style," Psy celebrates women who can sip coffee by day and let loose at night — and indeed, night life is central to the Gangnam experience. But since it can be expensive, two friends offered solutions. Gangnam-raised Si Yeon Kim took me to Rainbow, a hippie-inspired, Korean-style take-off-your-shoes-and-sit-on-the-floor spot where groups of four share 28,000-won scorpion bowls and hookahs. The ambience was plenty unusual but the prices still a bit steep. Youngpo, a self-proclaimed farm boy, had a better idea, taking me to a few "beer warehouses," newly popular spots that pare the drinking down to its essentials. The warehouses are virtually service-free; at Cube, a spare space with soft neon lighting and a video projected on the wall, there was really just a cashier and someone to bus tables — you take beer (starting at 3,500 won) yourself from refrigerated cases.
My last night called for full-on clubbing, but at the hottest Gangnam clubs — Octagon and Eden, for example — admission can be 30,000 won or more and the scene bruising to egos of those over 30. Both Rob and Youngpo agreed: the solution was Bam-gwa Eu-mak Sa-I ("Between the Night and the Music"), where the weeknight cover is a more reasonable 10,000 won. Located down a flight of stairs in one of the Gangnam Station alleys, its exposed pipes, grungy floors, 2,000-won drafts and infectious '90s K-pop "oldies" drew an unassuming but fun crowd. In other words, just the sort of place where someone exhausted from days of straining toward affluence can let loose — although preferably not to the point of horse dancing.
IF YOU STAY
Few budget lodging options exist in the Gangnam district of Seoul; here are three at various price points.
Morning Guesthouse (third floor, 829-13 Sinseong Building, Yeoksam-Dong). Six blocks (and about 10 cafes) from the Gangnam Station spot, up a couple of flights of stairs, tiny, pod-like guestrooms combine a comfortable bed, a desk with its own Wi-Fi router, and a bathroom-and-shower cubicle in a seemingly impossibly small space. I reserved through booking.com and paid 60,000 won, about $57, for a night.
JA Gangnam (No. 508, Sungwoo Village, 1307 Seocho 4-dong, Seocho-gu). Just a few months old, with only 10 beds and one very hard-working host named Hyunchung Kim ("Dan" in English), this is a charmingly personal little spot, right in the middle of the action — though practically impossible to find without the excellent directions on its Web site. It's also full of the perks you'd expect from hostels: chargers, Wi-Fi, maps, advice, camaraderie. I booked through hostelbookers.com for 28,000 won a night.
A less conventional lodging option, probably best suited to a single night's stay, is Gold Spa (fourth floor, 143 Saimdang-ro, Seocho-gu), a 24-hour jjimjilbang, or Korean bathhouse. Enter in the evening (leave your luggage in a locker at nearby Gangnam Station) and pay the 10,000-won fee. You can spend the night in simple bunk rooms (floor mats and blankets are provided). Divided by gender, men and women lounge in hot and cold pools, steam rooms and saunas and come together on another floor for snacks, socializing and a few additional hot rooms.
This post has been revised to reflect the following correction:
Correction: February 27, 2013
An earlier version of the map with this article located the Gangnam Station incorrectly. It is to the south of the Kyobo Tower, not to the north.
